Regrets
by Crescent Moon Dancer
Summary: As Elrond sails for Valinor, he cannot help but reflect on everything he is leaving behind.
_Gone._

Elrond stood at the stern of the ship, staring back across the waves at the distant haze that was Middle Earth as it slipped away over the horizon - and with it, everything that the half-elven lord had known and loved for over four thousand years.

 _Gone._

It was said that the Elves did not belong in Middle Earth, and certainly they did not belong there now. The Age of Men had dawned, and with its coming, the Age of the Elves was over. The fair race was departing their temporary home, sailing for the Undying Lands where they would dwell forever.

 _Forever._

It was such a final word, Elrond reflected. He, like most of the Elves, took for granted the fact that he would live forever. He had survived more than one great war, and his immortal life was open before him, as it had always been.

And yet, eternity took on a new aspect for the former Lord of Imladris as the ship glided over the gently tossing waves. Somehow, he'd never supposed that he would lose everyone he loved partway through his unending life, and now that he had, it left him feeling strangely empty.

The first person that sprang to mind was Arwen. His beautiful daughter, whom he had housed and fathered and loved for two thousand years, chose a mortal life. She remained in Middle Earth, wedded to the king, and Elrond knew that that day when she bid him farewell in Minas Tirith would be the last time he ever saw her.

The thought sent a dull throb through his leaden heart, and his mind turned to the others.

Elladan and Elrohir remained behind as well, for how long, their father knew not. Perhaps forever. Still burned by the lingering flame of the memory of their mother's torment, they rode with the king's men, rooting evil out of the land and destroying the few remaining orcs and goblins that sought shelter in the dark places of Middle Earth. Even if they were not slain during these skirmishes, they had professed a desire to remain for a time and watch their nephew grow to manhood, doubtless intending to mentor him when he reached maturity.

Another twinge plucked at Elrond's heart as he thought of the boy in question. Arwen and Aragorn had celebrated the birth of their first child not long before their father departed from their native shores. The Half-Elf had seen the infant before he left, had held the little bundle in his arms and, for the first time, experienced the wonder of being a grandfather. And now he had left that behind.

It wasn't helping that Eldarion had Arwen's - and, by extension, Elrond's - eyes.

Then, there was Estel. Though the man and his foster father had their differences in the past, Elrond still loved the mortal. How could he not? The man dwelt in Imladris since he was a baby, growing up among the elves, calling Elrond Adar, Father - the only father he knew. And the great Elven lord had called the boy his son.  
Even when he was grown, living in the wild with the Rangers, Aragorn - Estel - had always been able to call Rivendell home. The valley was ever open to him, returning from long journeys around the country, welcomed with open arms by his family.

And now, he was gone too. Left behind in Middle Earth, where he would live out his days before his spirit departed for the Halls of Mandos, leaving Arwen completely alone. She would wither and fade, Elrond thought with anguish, with nothing left to cling to once her beloved husband was gone.

Finally, there was Imladris itself. The beauty of the valley would be nothing compared to the Undying Lands, he knew - and yet there was regret there, too. How could one fail to miss the place where one had dwelt for several millennia? Perhaps such a length of time was trivial in the life of an elf, but even so... Elrond found himself recalling wistfully the tranquility of Rivendell; sitting in his study watching the denizens of the valley go about their business, watching as the leaves of the trees turned scarlet and gold with the coming of autumn, the tales and songs in the Hall of Fire on winter nights, the countless games of chess with Glorfindel as Lindir quietly strummed his harp, and always, the distant sounds of the river and waterfalls, singing their own songs to the Valar as they flowed their way down to the sea.

The sea. Elrond stared across the water at the dark blur on the distant horizon. The sea. Just as the river found its way to the mighty ocean, so had he found his way to it also. And, like the river, he would never go back, never return.

 _Never._  
 _Forever._  
 _Gone._

The words echoed ceaselessly in his head, his heart getting heavier each time they passed through his consciousness. Never again would he see his daughter, at least one of his sons, and the valley he had come to call home. He was leaving them behind - all of them - leaving them forever.

They were gone.

The Half-Elf drew a deep breath of the salty air, and as Middle Earth slipped over the horizon and disappeared from even his keen sight, he turned away, facing the west, where the sun dipped down behind the ocean, turning the water deep amber and gold.

There, in the west, lay promise, hope, and peace. There, Celebrian waited for him, as she had been waiting all this time. There he would find new life, a life that would last beyond the end of Middle Earth. There, he knew, lay the Undying Lands.

There, beyond the sinking sun, was peace.


End file.
